


clear the gaps before they fill again

by dualce



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Feelings, M/M, Some angst, post Battle of 5 Armies, slight background mentions of character deaths, the Bilbo/Bofur is very slight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 08:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dualce/pseuds/dualce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pipe weed always made him a bit nostalgic, more optimistic than he had a right to be. But something in the hobbit's manner made Bofur want to fix things, even if it was only for a moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	clear the gaps before they fill again

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just trying to deal with my feelings about the end of the Hobbit. I just want everyone to be happy, particularly these two. ;__;

Bofur had entertained some hazy thoughts towards the completion of their journey, curled up in his bedroll and still awake in the late hours of the night. The familiar heft of a pick, comfortable in his hand, was one such half-formed vision, along with the smell of raw, smoky earth. Maybe a home, too, a deep chamber with a vaulted ceiling, covered with thick furs and blankets and steaming-hot water piping through the walls. That and the chests full of coin and gold and silver and gems, of course. Looking back, they seemed incandescent in his memory, gleaming and pure and just out of his reach. 

Now, nothing could be further from such dreams. The pick in his hand was to clear the collapsed passages and hallways, the smell of raw earth, when dug, to lay the bodies of the fallen to rest; that was what faced the survivors and encompassed them in grief.

Bofur was not one for such gloom. Not for long. And he knew the dark weight of his thoughts were nothing in comparison to those who were kin to the line of Durin, or those who counted a truer friendship.

Such as their burglar. Poor Mr. Baggins looked pale, ill, as light as a sparrow, and one that might not fly should the wind blow him away. Bofur made a point to visit him, each day, no matter the ache in his own muscles from clearing the damage and the dead from the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo said little during those visits, and if it wasn't for his open eyes, Bofur would think him sleeping. Maybe he was, in a way.

Bofur studied his chest of treasure -- one of them, mind you -- mostly coin but a few trinkets here and then. He had never questioned the gold that he owned, or the way he went about getting it. When all was said and done, he put in a hard day's work to earn what was his. Or a journey's worth of work.

It seemed different, now. He squatted down, picking up a bracelet he'd found among the wreckage of their mountain. Not exactly stealing, but tidying up a bit, at least that's what he told himself. Old habits from the road were hard to break. Worse was the unrelenting whisper in the back of his head telling him there was no one left to miss the bracelet. No matter how he shook his head, the words lingered. 

The bracelet was a fair bit dinted now, tarnished, a few settings lonely and aching for a gem to set into them. Nothing that couldn't be fixed, he thought. In fact - he stood up and searched through his chests, searching for little something. A garnet, maybe, or a yellow topaz. The lapis he pulled out nearly fit, but not quite.

The coins sifted through his hand, and necklace chains slithered to the bottom of the pile, but nothing caught his eye. With a huff, he sat back, and pulled at his whiskers. All this treasure, and he couldn't find a gem to fit into a wee bracelet?

On that cheerful thought he went to visit the hobbit, and found him sitting up, exhaustion lining his eyes and no smile present around his mouth.

Bofur offered his own, anyways. "Mr. Baggins!"

Bilbo nodded in greeting. "Bofur," he said tiredly.

Bofur settled himself next to him. It was hard to think of what to say. Every piece of good news had to do with the cleanup going on throughout the mountain, or the council meetings and the provisions for future clashes with the enemy. All of those things dealt with the loss of their leader and friends, and what could be gained from speaking of that?

He looked around the room instead, but again, everything that came to mind seemed to strike him as ridiculous, even by his standards. "Been outside?" Was what he decided on, finally, wincing at his feeble attempt at small talk.

Bilbo sucked in a deep breath. "I'm going home."

"What?" Bofur said. He was almost more surprised by the shock in his own voice, although he had known for a long time -- ever since they'd set out from the hobbit hole -- that Bilbo had longed for his home. "But --" he began, but the lines of grief etched into Bilbo's face stopped him.

"Right." He fiddled with the pipe in his pocket, although Bilbo already seemed to have drifted away from him, eyelids drooping. "And you'll want to say goodbye, first?"

Bilbo looked on the verge of saying no, face closing in a way that made it clear he wanted no more goodbyes.

Bofur softened. The hobbit had a way of making him do that, with such a pliant face that did nothing to hide every hurt and concern and injury that struck him. "Bombur'll want to see you off. Bifur, too, and I'm sure the others --"

"They'll be busy," Bilbo said.

"True," Bofur sighed, shuffling his feet until one was tucked under him. The others, with their ties to the royal family, had more direct roles in the rebuilding. Yet it didn't seem like the hobbit to take off without a proper farewell. Why did everything seem to sit so ill with him lately? He finally gave in to his urges and pulled his pipe weed out of his pocket. Maybe the hobbit would take a snuff or two, do him some good.

"I'll have Bombur pack you something decent," Bofur said, striking a match on his heel. The flame glowed around his fingers and caught the leaves in the bowl with a sizzle, and he paused to take a pull through the pipe. "Gandalf going back with you?" He said after a long moment, exhaling a bead of smoke.

Bilbo was silent, long enough for Bofur to turn and look at him. "No. He's got -- " Finally Bilbo seemed to move, waving his hand in an expansive motion, and Bofur hadn't realized the hobbit had been so still for so long. "I'll make the journey alone. Should be -- it'll be nothing, after all this."

An understatement. It still didn't sit right, but Bofur nodded. He held out the pipe, but Bilbo declined with a shake of his head. Bofur tipped back against the wall and let the smoke settle around them, staring at nothing in particular, letting his mind idly consider the recent events. Hours spent digging and clearing rock and rubble. Bilbo, still as the stone he sat upon, where he was once so engaging, even if it was only to tuck himself out of harm's way. Or to stand up for another one of them, bold and daring when he was most needed. The bracelet came to mind, too. Just needed a small stone -- the right stone -- and it would be not brand new, but whole again.

Oh, my. The pipe weed always made him a bit nostalgic, more optimistic than he had a right to be. But something in the hobbit's manner made Bofur want to fix things, even if it was only for a moment.

"I suppose," Bofur started, stopped, and frowned. "You'll need company. 'til Lake-town, certainly."

Bilbo cast him a wary look.

"Can't be too careful. Orcs and wargs still about. Should go with you t' Rivendell, even." Bofur puffed out a mouthful of smoke. "Maybe even Bree."

Bilbo's lips tugged upwards, but he presented a doubtful look to Bofur.

"But most assuredly until Lake-town."

Bilbo seemed to relax a bit. "Will I?" he asked, with the barest hint of a smile laid on his lips. "You don't think I can make the journey myself?"

"Of course! But it'd be --" Bofur stopped himself from saying lonely, but only just. "Quite boring!" Bofur nodded, more confident than he felt. "Did I ever tell you the story about the the pig, the barmaid, and my brother?"

"I cannot recall," Bilbo said, and a real smile, small but genuine, graced his lips. "Is it anything like the one you told about Bombur's attempt at courting that dwarf lass with a fine beard?"

"Longer than his, and braided even more intricately!" Bofur chuckled. "This one's just as good one. I'll save it for the trip. You'll have to promise not to laugh yourself off the pony, though."

Bilbo chuckled too, rough and dry, and Bofur was pleased to hear his friend laugh. And when Bofur offered the hobbit his pipe again, this time he took it.


End file.
